17 May 2019
Every night the child wept aloud and babbled unhappily, long into the night. So the girl sat by the cradle and spoke and sang softly, hoping to soothe the babe, but to no avail: the child would not be comforted. By-and-by the girl grew weary, and her head drooped upon her breast, and she slept. About midnight–not perhaps on the stroke of midnight, for there were no bells which could carry so far from town to the house in the garden–the girl half woke, and saw a curious sight: The window opened just a crack, and the wind blew, and four pale sweet blooms of wisteria bent into the room...
(You know the second half of "Brother and Sister," with the baby and the imposter and the ghost and the ominous rhymes? That story, but with less murder and more flowers.)